TBR CH65

The demon was confined in a silver cage, forged under divine will, unyieldingly sturdy and indestructible.

He stood alone, his face bearing an indifferent, almost careless expression, as if nothing could tether him to this world. He appeared profoundly solitary—not waiting for anyone, not harboring hope.

Too familiar. Tarksius thought he had long forgotten this scene, believed he could break free from it. But the chaotic footsteps of priests coming and going, the towering church buildings casting their shadows, and the plaza where sentences were pronounced—

It was as if he were trapped in a mirror, reaching out to touch his reflection. The figure of a god overlapped with that of a demon.

Even after a millennium, nothing had changed, the god mused. But this time, he hadn’t left a summoning scroll outside. A demon killed twice could never return to the world.

The priest had already issued the verdict. Templar knights approached him, thick smoke billowing from the pyre. Then, in a single moment, the crowd’s orderly rhythm shattered, like a wrong note suddenly struck in a musical score.

Amid the rising clamor, the demon lifted his eyes and saw—

Edwin leaning down from the white tower, the bright, translucent red reflecting in his lead-gray eyes. Their gazes met lightly in midair.

The bishop looked at him, and at the astonishment in his eyes, offering a reassuring smile—as if he were still handling a matter he could manage with ease.

He shouldn’t be here, no matter the reason. Sunlight glinted off the golden threads of his vestments, sparkling like topaz. The white tower, one of the holiest places in the church, was where Edwin had once preached. From here, the plaza where the demon was to be burned lay fully in view.

The crowd began to stir, while the church priests sensed something even more ominous. The templar knights hesitated—should they proceed with the ritual, or wait for the bishop to descend from the tower?

…He wouldn’t descend.

Due to the platform’s unique position, every word Edwin spoke carried clearly to every ear in the plaza. He began to speak, his tone calm, though only those who knew him well could detect the tremor he fought to suppress. His first words alone sparked unrest:

“I am a sinner,” he declared.

He shouldn’t be here. Tal stood in the cage, peering through the gleaming silver bars at him. Didn’t he realize what it meant for the church’s archbishop to overstep protocol and appear at this moment? Words spoken couldn’t be unsaid—his opening statement was tantamount to self-destruction. There might still be time to stop.

A greedy flame still burned in the bishop’s chest, capable of consuming him entirely. He knew what he should choose—since childhood, he’d resolved to climb upward, striving desperately until now.

He’d come this far, Tal thought. And then—

Then, standing atop the white tower, he gripped his staff tightly, as he had during every sermon:

“I shouldn’t be here,” Edwin said, “but look—I come willingly, even if it brings my end, forever nailed to the pillar of shame. Even if I had a thousand more chances, I’d make this choice again.”

His voice steadied from its initial tremble. He hadn’t yet stated his purpose. In a brief pause between breaths, he gave a fleeting smile, watching the templar knights and priests below hesitate in place. It was a pity they’d missed their chance to report him—exactly as he’d anticipated.

The crowd fell silent, too stunned to speak.

“I’m here to save a demon.”

Even the dullest among them realized Edwin was about to commit an act of defiance. The templar knights drew their weapons, surging toward the white tower’s gate. The priests gaped in shock, attempting magical assaults to at least graze the hem of their bishop’s robe.

Someone in the crowd screamed, as if trying to flee and spread the terrifying news like a bomb beyond the plaza.

Edwin lowered his eyes, gazing impassively at the crowd. He felt the uneven texture of his staff with his palm, then pressed it downward gently. The golden staff struck the ground and blazed, like a sun, sweeping across the entire plaza in an instant.

His mastery of light magic was impeccable.

Everyone present knew their bishop possessed astonishing talent. Some understood the unimaginable effort he’d poured into it. But when they saw such pure, beautiful holy light burst from Edwin’s staff, they were spellbound, nearly forgetting to breathe.

The demon stood in the narrow cage, which writhed like a beast with its throat seized. The bars, engraved with divine curses, melted; molten silver flowed scalding onto the ground, emitting creaks and the faint, strange odor of liquefied metal.

The bishop was using light magic to save a demon.

No one in attendance could believe their eyes.

Tal watched the knights charge forward, snorting like bulls, their sword tips gleaming as they tried to stop him from escaping the cage. Priests had already reached the white gate, raising blessed ritual implements—

A clang of metal hitting the ground rang out, like a musical note.

The templar knights were pinned down by the holy light, their spines pressed flat, weapons slipping from powerless hands. Less experienced priests even knelt involuntarily, the radiance so blinding it seemed to swallow heaven and earth, leaving them unable to lift their heads.

The most seasoned figure present was the priest who’d condemned Tal. He held out longer, long enough to shout at Edwin, his voice wild and thunderous:

“Traitor to the God of Light! God will destroy you as you destroy us! Don’t you fear the wrath of heaven? If you stop now—”

He couldn’t continue, for the power granted by their god was wielded more fully in their bishop’s hands than in any of theirs. Edwin, clearly amused, smiled:

“Please don’t call me a traitor.”

His voice still carried that strange, compelling charm, now used by this arrogant man to say something entirely different:

“I’ve never believed in the light. For this thought, I’ve blasphemed against God, and I’ll never repent.”

*

If someone rises to a high position in the church not for faith, it must be for power.

If someone forsakes power and faith, they must be a fool choosing love, believing the intangible illusion of love can serve as bread, that love alone can sustain life.

Now the demon could leave.

Tal stood still, unmoving. He sought Edwin’s eyes, and the bishop, after delivering words that would ruin him, finally looked back openly.

Edwin’s gray eyes shifted slightly, stirring the remnants of countless storms, yet the eye of the hurricane remained reserved for Tal. The holy light didn’t touch the demon’s skin—not a single trace—gently parting around him.

A completely free demon.

The cage that had confined him was reduced to broken, bare stubs, a large silver gap yawning open.

Now, no one could speak except Tal.

The demon’s hair fell soft and tame over his shoulders. Edwin’s fingers twitched unconsciously—he longed to touch it again.

But as he met the demon’s gaze—those bright yet heavy garnet-red eyes, like touching a weighty gemstone—he knew Tal had already guessed his decision.

He avoided Tal’s eyes, only to hear his voice, slightly hoarse but still beautiful in tone:

“You’ve left yourself no way out.”

Tal said, “You’re not planning to leave with me, are you?”

Edwin averted his gaze, looking instead at the others in the plaza.

The holy light pressed down relentlessly on everyone’s spines. The people in the plaza gazed at him with stunned, incredulous eyes. Among those panicked and bewildered stares, the devout saw his actions as blasphemy against God, while others—those who chased power like moths endlessly circling a flame—were astonished, believing he’d lost his mind to love, casting aside everything he held as if it were worthless silt.

…Like mere silt.

Edwin would never see it that way. Pure ambition was the foundation of his existence. Everything he pursued could never be fleeting fireworks. Even now, as he touched his pulsing wrist, he could still feel the thirst for power coursing through his veins.

Abandon this, or abandon that.

Human strength had its limits, and the world often demanded a choice between two. But as the bishop felt his power crash like waves against a shore, endlessly ebbing away in the radiant glow of light magic, he laughed.

It was an arrogant smile. He looked down at the people below, standing atop the church’s white tower, clad in the archbishop’s vestments.

No matter what you chose, it was a betrayal of the other—a failure of courage to face it.

Abandon Tal, and he’d become a hollow shell, forever cursed.

Abandon power, and he’d forsake his true self. Twenty years of relentless struggle, throwing himself into the fire like a moth—not to negate it all now.

He’d once agonized over what to forsake and what to keep: should he disregard the demon’s life and cling to the papal crown, or abandon all power, losing his strength, and walk the path of exile with Tal?

His pain stemmed from his inability to hold both.

…But.

Only now did Edwin finally find the answer.

If you couldn’t do it, you ceased to be yourself.

Before making his choice, he recalled Tal’s solution from the tavern. Tal had said, Don’t choose. A truly greedy ambitious soul doesn’t let options confine him, doesn’t let identities like ‘human’ or ‘pope’ dictate his actions. Be greedy—abandon anything, and you’re no longer you.

Tal was right. He should be greedier, insatiable. His life shouldn’t include decisions he’d regret, or it wouldn’t be thorough. How else could he justify the past twenty years of hurling himself into the flames?

Golden light bathed Tal’s pupils, turning his gaze a fiery red-gold.

The demon stepped forward decisively, the bars hissing and melting under an incomprehensible force. He knew all too well—Edwin wasn’t merely casting magic now; he was burning through his life.

Such beautiful eyes.

Edwin thought, I’ll save him. I won’t abandon him. Just as Tal had pulled him from the brink of shattering time and again, he’d never leave him behind. The thought blazed in his heart like a rose.

His past, too, burned in the flames, scorching him as he shed it. Rising to power, wielding the staff and the crown of thorns—these were parts of him. He couldn’t discard his past, nor did he have a wanderer’s temperament. Edwin couldn’t accept a powerless version of himself, so…

His life had meaning, and his death would too.

*

Those who died here weren’t nameless.

“I know how history will speak of my name,” Edwin said, smiling with near-arrogant confidence at everyone below the white tower. His staff radiated the most dazzling light in memory, forcing all to bow at his feet.

The church hadn’t had time to strip him of his crown, nor could they ever after this. Destroying himself was an alluring choice. What he possessed in death, no one could take.

“I stand where you can’t reach and speak to you. Today, the emperor arrives at the church, meant to confirm me as the sole legitimate heir to the papacy. I rose from an unknown parish in Vadin, born without a name, bearing a cursed bloodline. Yet none of you will climb as high as I have or achieve what I’ve done.”

Look at that. His gray eyes flickered with a mad hurricane. He almost genuinely felt joy.

“Even after my death, the church will operate under the shadow I leave behind.”

There was something wild in the bishop’s eyes—perhaps long-suppressed, or perhaps never suppressed at all.

“Even if you desperately try to forget me, you’ll have to follow the path I’ve laid. Even if you want to strip me of my crown, you’ll remember you can’t take anything from the dead. Even if you erase every word from the pages, you can’t escape the voice of history—never.”

“Praise my name,” Edwin said, gazing down at them all like ants. He extended his arms, striking the same pose he’d used countless times to bless believers after sacraments, to extol the miracles of the God of Light. But this time, he spoke only for himself.

“Praise my name, fear my name, speak of it with awe. In my life, I’ve had no regrets, abandoned nothing. Remember my final station—the ninety-seventh Archbishop of the Church of Light.”

That was him—unscrupulous, uncompromising, never yielding—or else destroying. Abandonment was for the weak. Tal had raised a glass to him under the honeyed tavern lights, smirking: “I’m mad because you’re not greedy enough.”

He wouldn’t choose power over his love.

He felt so fulfilled now. He’d never imagined protecting the one he loved could make him feel so alive—this tangible sensation of living. A single moment of it was nearly enough to let him face death with peace.

He loved him so resolutely, so devoutly. And by some twist of fate, he could protect him.

Edwin had fantasized about fleeing with the demon. But stripped of all power, reduced to nothing, he wouldn’t allow himself to linger on in disgrace.

Some might think his choice meant losing both. The demon would no longer be his, free to roam the world anew, while he’d carry his crown into a cold grave, forsaking the pinnacle just one step away.

Yet, for once, he felt he hadn’t abandoned either.

He was about to die.

His name would be nailed to the church’s pillar of shame, branded by posterity as a traitor and madman. But even so, people might whisper his title with awe: Archbishop of the Church of Light.

To his death, he remained so.

*

Love and sacrifice.

Power and death.

Edwin thought he’d reasoned it through clearly—until he saw his lover’s eyes.

Tal stood frozen, staring at him. The bars around the demon had melted away, still sizzling faintly from the light. His garnet-red eyes locked onto him unblinkingly, bright and vivid, holding the tender secrets of the world, reflecting Edwin atop the white tower.

…They hadn’t said a proper goodbye.

Hugs and kisses weren’t enough. He wanted to touch his soft hair again.

His lover’s lips seemed coated in honey—sweet in imagination, then bitter as it lingered on his tongue. It shouldn’t be like this—too rushed. He wanted to do so much more with him. There were gifts left ungiven, wishes unfulfilled, promised places they’d never reached.

Edwin gripped his staff tightly.

He feared that one more look would make him reluctant to die, so he kept trying to avert his gaze. But their eyes met in the air regardless. The weather was clear, sunlight casting every subtle shift in their gazes into sharp relief.

Just this once, their eyes shifted differently. Edwin’s were resolute and decisive, the storm within them burning him to ash. Tal’s were filled with bewilderment.

The demon had never felt so out of control—not even his heartbeat obeyed him.

Thump—thump—thump—

He stood rigid, unable to feel his limbs or the temperature around him. The world dimmed in his eyes, leaving only Edwin atop the white tower, smiling faintly at him.

Only him.

Edwin had never abandoned his pursuit of ambition, yet he’d destroy himself to save him. He’d planned his own demise, which was why he’d severed the soul contract so decisively. Now, standing on the high platform, he looked at Tal with softened eyes, tinged with a plea.

He wanted him to leave quickly, yet dreaded seeing his back.

A dagger lay hidden in Edwin’s boot—should he lose his power, he could still end his life.

For the first time, the demon felt helpless before such a radiant soul, at a loss for what to do. He stood stiffly, unsure of his next move.

The holy light blanketed the plaza, carefully avoiding him alone, as if he were fragile. Beneath the light, he could escape—a demon sheltered by sanctity.

“I haven’t made my wish yet,” Edwin said slowly, his voice ringing clear in Tal’s ears.

“You promised me one wish.”

Tal stood still, not leaving immediately. Edwin was glad he could say something to him at the end, but time was running out. His power had a limit, or perhaps God would extinguish all the light he could wield.

He pushed himself to the brink, burning his life like a candle flaring brightest before it guttered out.

So, without waiting for the demon’s reply, the bishop made his wish, like a child eager to blow out the candles:

“I want you to never be caught.”

Tal felt his heart pound harder for no reason, as if it might break free of his chest. He instinctively pressed a hand over it, his gaze fixed on Edwin, hearing him say,

“And you must remember me—never forget me.”

A demon’s lifespan is long, and only now did he realize he wasn’t content to merely be a fleeting passerby in it. Only now did he understand that he didn’t see Tal as a precious treasure to possess. Tal didn’t have to belong to him—that was the essence of companionship. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made those wishes time and again.

But he wasn’t satisfied with just that.

Remember me forever. When you walk through strange landscapes I’ll never see, think of me. When you converse with new acquaintances, think of me. When you roam freely beneath the meteors of the Dragon’s Ridge, you must never forget the promise a human once made with you.

Remember me forever—don’t embrace another, don’t kiss another. Even if you do embrace or kiss someone else.

This wasn’t a wish—it was practically a curse.

Yet Tal stood there, the ground beneath his feet scorching. He didn’t want to remain still, not even for a second.

For the first time, he felt a heart tremble so violently. The world melted before his eyes, painful and restless memories evaporating into crystalline dewdrops, suspended in Edwin’s gaze.

The demon opened his mouth, but only a faint, indistinct sound escaped. Still, Edwin knew what he meant to ask. The bishop propped himself up with his staff, his strength waning. He leaned his chest against the white tower’s railing, half his body tilting toward the plaza’s pure white marble.

He pretended nothing was wrong, but tears welled in his eyes, nearly spilling. Tal couldn’t help but spread his palm, irrationally hoping the tears would fall like clear crystals into his hand, a keepsake to treasure.

Edwin whispered, “I came here because you matter more than anything. Tal, you’ve asked me so many times what I want. Hear a dying man’s final words: I love you more than anything else—second only to all my ambition.”

He hadn’t abandoned anything; he’d merely reordered them.

“Promise me.”

The bishop’s gaze was expectant, lofty atop the white tower. This was the ending he’d chosen for himself, a wish he’d made long ago. He pleaded for it to come true with the same urgency he’d felt years ago, clutching a medal and greedily eyeing a hug.

A single glistening tear fell through the air, swift and silent. The god reached out, catching it. His palm didn’t dampen from so small a drop, yet his heart felt drenched.

A god’s heart was eternally cold, like a snowfield cloaked in endless frost. But now, unmistakably, it stirred faintly.

Not the heart of a demon, but the heart of the dark god Tarksius.

“I promise you,” he heard himself say, and Edwin smiled with relief.

With his last strength, he enveloped everything in sight with boundless radiance, ignoring the sharp stabs in his heart and the fingers that could barely close, just managing to grip the staff.

The holy light strained to become gentle and harmless, brushing softly against the demon’s back, guiding him toward an escape.

A demon so clever and cunning—once he left, he’d vanish like a drop into the ocean, never to be found again.

The toll of overexertion was about to crush him completely. Edwin felt his bones ache as if they were snapping. He clung to the railing against his chest, desperately holding himself up, casting a greedy final glance at Tal.

For a fleeting moment, he envied the light that could still graze Tal’s back, while he could no longer stand so close.

Two seconds later, anxiety and panic crept in.

Tal remained rooted, his gem-like red eyes fixed on him without blinking. A demon skilled at self-preservation should know he had to leave now. A brief delay was harmless—Edwin could still wring out his last shred of strength.

But please, he silently begged, unable to form words loud enough for Tal to hear: Please, go.

The demon stepped out of his shackles.

Effortlessly, he left the confines behind, his steps light and unburdened. This was how he should be—forever free, living freely in this world.

He was so beautiful.

The bishop couldn’t help but release the staff, now useless to him. He braced both hands on the tower’s railing, peering down like a dove about to fall, though his gaze was as ravenous as an eagle’s.

One more look would do. One more second to hold his lover’s garnet eyes in his sight.

He hadn’t realized that morning’s embrace would be their last. Now, thinking back, it felt too regrettable—too painful. If he’d had the chance, he’d never have let it end here.

Though he knew such a wish was impractical and futile.

Fear struck suddenly, searing his heart. He’d been so focused on etching Tal’s image into his mind that he hadn’t immediately noticed something discordant in the scene.

…That wasn’t the right direction.

Tal wasn’t moving away from him, away from the church.

He took a step toward him, then another.

Edwin had already drawn the dagger from his boot, though he suspected he’d die from the backlash of light before plunging it into his chest. He strained to maintain the barrier, its calm, bright glow unwavering.

He staggered to his feet, pointing shakily toward the direction behind him. But Tal ignored his gesture, his pace quickening. His black boots struck the ground with faint, crisp taps.

He wasn’t disregarding Edwin’s gaze. The bishop looked at him with pleading eyes, and the demon returned a soothing glance.

The problem was, things couldn’t improve. Edwin feared missing the best solution. He knew Tal was approaching him—a purpose both sweet and bitter, like dark salt. The bishop shook his head with all his might. He’d calculated how to ration his strength, but now it felt far from enough.

He pushed himself again. Human bodies had limits, but at the edge of those limits, Edwin wrung out his marrow, his heartbeat, again and again.

Go.

His strength was about to give out. He might not hold back everyone in the plaza, including the full force of the church’s templar knights. What he was doing now was nothing short of a miracle. Yet the demon kept coming toward him.

Edwin couldn’t help but close his eyes.

He treated it as a rest, a moment to gather himself. He resolved to burn himself out completely when he opened them. If he died, Tal would stop approaching. He wanted Tal to live well, carrying his promise.

But before he could open his eyes, a soft, warm touch brushed his skin. The air carried the rich scent of roses. Silky hair tickled his neck restlessly, and strong arms encircled him in an embrace.

In that first second, he knew the name of this embrace, though he could scarcely believe it.

“Wha—”

That fleeting shock made him forget his resolve to burn out. In that moment, he felt irretrievable loss, collapsing backward in exhaustion, wondering if what he sensed was a dying hallucination. His back was about to hit the tower’s hard, cold floor.

He was caught.

“Tal…” he murmured, dizzy. Then fear seized him again.

“You should’ve gone… I can still manage. The people in the plaza can’t move yet—let me go and leave now. There might still be time. There has to be.”

Edwin pushed at Tal in near-panic, too frantic to wonder how he’d reached the tower in an instant.

“Don’t worry.”

The demon’s voice was sweet, like the finest brew. He leaned in to kiss his neck, his bright eyes almost bewitching. Edwin forgot to resist, letting him kiss, enveloped by roses.

He was so beautiful. Edwin’s gray eyes reflected Tal’s form. The bishop reached out to touch him, and he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t pull away. Edwin heard a faint murmur rise from the plaza, and his bewitched heart finally snapped back to reality. He lifted his gaze, his pale gray eyes instantly calculating every possible path. But at this moment, there seemed to be no way out—

Or was there?

A black mist crept upward from some unknown source, spreading across the entire plaza, swirling around them.

With his peripheral vision, Edwin saw the templar knights and priests—who had just regained a sliver of strength—being swallowed once more by the dark fog. In its faint, flickering presence, they staggered and collapsed again, like silent puppets, their eyes closing.

The black mist was endless, relentless, coiling around them. Edwin knew this level of power could only come from an utterly unimaginable entity. Unlike his earlier desperate effort to blanket the plaza with light, the master of this mist seemed to wield their power with casual indifference.

He gripped the demon’s arm tightly. The situation had spiraled beyond his control, but Edwin knew he had to protect Tal. He scanned their surroundings warily, fearing the mist might touch him.

But…

Edwin stared at the scene before him, his mind racing, yet unable to arrive at a definite conclusion.

The demon let him lean against him, cradling him with half an arm as if he’d gained something precious. Edwin rested in his embrace, and the black mist flowed around him entirely, as if an invisible barrier held it at bay.

Most striking of all, Tal’s other hand extended gently forward. At his fingertip, something like a bead of ink hovered, spinning. The air around it warped into a vortex, drawing in the deep black mist like a storm.

All the mist stemmed from a single source—like the eye of a hurricane. That vast, terrifying, boundless power originated entirely from the demon’s fingertip.

In a daze, before Edwin could fully comprehend it, a wild, improbable thought struck him:

The black mist parted around him—

—just as he had once ontrolled the holy light to carefully avoid the demon’s form.